


gravity wants to bring me down

by peerpressured



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, UNTIL THEY DON'T, liam and niall get into shenanigans, niall is a lacrosse stud and harry is an art kid and they hate each other, this fic is a mess i don't know what's happening, zourry are the three musketeers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peerpressured/pseuds/peerpressured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Niall get paired up as lab partners and this is when the world truly begins to end, because Harry's an art kid and Niall is captain of the lacrosse team and neither of them are starring in an independent film about young love and high school drama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Harry Styles hates chemistry class. Hates it, positively despises the likes of Louis Pasteur and Albert Einstein and their asshole friends who decided that hey, high school isn’t hard enough, let’s put math with the science and use a bunch of unusual words to describe what’s going on when these little tiny molecules touch each other. He hates Mrs. Whitman, the psychotic eleventh grade science teacher who has the metallic heart of a sci-fi novel robot and eyes that are literally back holes filled with anger and pent-up sexual frustration, Harry has decided. The way she teaches makes him want to slit his wrists, the beat of her monotonous voice dragging on and on as she attempts to teach twenty four uneager teens about how exciting intermolecular forces can be (in Harry’s opinion, the answer is simple: not very. ) Harry hates how the blank white walls of the classroom close in on him like a shrinking cage, with stupid mocking posters reminding the students that if you don’t wear goggles during the labs, something catastrophic will definitely happen, like an acid burn on your entire body, or a freak accident that would leave you permanently blind. He hates how the clock morbidly ticks as time drags on, and he really fucking hates how he never knows what time it is because said clock hangs on the wall behind him; his mother always said that it’s impolite to direct your attention anywhere but the teacher, so Harry finds himself sitting in Mrs. Whitman’s terribly boring chemistry class for forty-five minutes a day, clueless as to what time it is and contemplating whether or not it’d be rude to climb out the window and live in the woods, avoiding chemistry and homework and stupid jocks for the rest of his high school career.

More than anything, Harry hates Niall Horan. A lot. Like, actual hate, the kind that makes your skin burn and your eyes twitch in a maddening way that makes you look a little crazy. Niall fucking Horan, captain of the varsity lacrosse team, and quite possibly the biggest douchebag on the face of the planet, is Harry’s lab partner, much to both of their dismay. Their personalities are like oil and water, to use a fitting chemistry analogy: they don’t mix. Harry is quiet and reserved and wears beanies and scarves on bad hair days. He takes art and he likes it. Harry works at a modern art museum in the city, for crying out loud. Niall, on the other hand, has already committed to play lacrosse at an Ivy League school. He dresses like a model for Nike and gets hundreds of likes on Instagram pictures of his fucking sneakers. He always has a pretty girl on his arm with his hand on her ass, and parties like there is no tomorrow. Harry and Niall are exact opposites, which is perfectly wonderful, Harry believes.

However different the two may be, no reason was a good enough reason to convince Mrs. Whitman that they shouldn’t be lab partners on the first day of eleventh grade. Harry walked into chemistry class on the first day hoping that he could lay low for the year, barely passing his tests and quizzes but making it look like he was trying so the teacher would give him a high enough grade, and walked out with a migraine caused by Niall’s constant protests and complaints to have his lab partner changed.

“My father gives a lot of money to this school,” Niall had said, rising from his seat as his voice lowered. “He’s not going to be happy to find out that I’ve been paired up with the class homo.” The words came out biting and angry, and Harry’s skin burned in that familiar way as the class snickered and Mrs. Whitman called for them to settle down.

“The seating schedule is set, Mr. Horan, and you are no more special than anyone else in this class. I suggest you befriend Mr. Styles, seeing that his final grade from last year’s biology exam was substantially higher than yours, and lab work is split fifty-fifty in this class.” The teacher shot an exasperated glare at the blond boy, cocking her hand to her hip and returning to the syllabus she had posted on the whiteboard. Color shot through Harry’s face as he sighed, turning his face down. He could feel Niall staring at him, probably thinking of his next insult to hurl at the other boy. A murmur escaped from Niall’s lips as Harry slumped down into his chair, rattling his pen against the desk as he wondered if he could even last the entire year in this class without having a mental breakdown.

Niall didn’t always hate Harry. They were friends, once, back in elementary school. But then again, everyone was friends then. Harry has vivid memories of playing soccer on the playground with the boys in his grade, before friendship was complicated by things like money and family problems and who-likes-who drama. Things started to change in middle school when Harry signed up for art club and befriended Louis and Zayn, and things really started to change in high school when Harry started secretly seeing with Nick Grimshaw, a senior who he had met through Art Honor Society and foolishly fallen for. Before he knew it, pictures of Harry and Nick hooking up at a party started circulating the school, and the secret was out. Nick wasn’t bothered by it, seeing that his senior year was just about up, but Harry’s life fell apart. His friends started ditching him until he was left with nobody but Zayn and Louis, people began spitting nasty words at him in the halls through clenched teeth, and teachers gave him sympathetic glances that read “I wish I could help you out, but I really can’t. Not today.” In May, Nick had graduated and moved to the city, and Harry was alone, it seemed. Sure, his friends were great, but they didn’t get it. More importantly, without Nick there to defend Harry from all the insolent asshole kids, especially Niall and his friends.

Since the day Harry was forced out of the closet, (which he was enjoying perfectly fine, thank you) Niall had been on Harry like fleas on a dog. He was a parasite, crawling under Harry’s skin and driving him absolutely mad. He sniggered every time he other boy walked by and slapped his books down on the floor a number of times, and even found great joy in prank calling Harry on Friday nights while he was drunk with his lacrosse friends. Harry just brushed it off, but knowing that he would have to see (and sit four inches away from) Niall every day for the next year made him feel sick.

The first chemistry class of the year comes to an end, and Niall books out of class and down the hallway. Harry follows after him, intent on forming some sort of peace treaty before things get out of hand. He chases after him, hugging his books close to his chest as he bends around the corner, slowing down as he approached Niall at his locker. Taking a deep breath, Harry leaned up against the wall, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and stroking the thin metal chain that hung around his neck. Niall is intensely shoving books into his locker, probably pretending that he doesn’t see Harry standing right next to him.

 

“Um, hey. I just…I-I don’t want this year to suck, you know? I want to do well and I’m guessing you do, too, so why don’t we just agree to put all that stupid shit behind us and just…buckle down and ace this idiotic class?” Harry lets out quietly, because shit, when did he become a nervous person? He’s never stuttered before, never once let his nerves get to him when talking to someone, especially someone who didn’t particularly like him. Niall didn’t look up and Harry started to worry. He backed away a few inches, breathing once more. Seconds later, Niall was slamming his locker shut, stroking the brim of his snapback as he stared Harry up and down before furrowing his brow and snorting.

“I can’t forget the fact that you’re a fucking fag, Harry. So, here’s what we can do. You focus on the work, and I’ll focus on my girlfriend and sports and being a normal teenager. Once you’ve aced the class for us, feel free to brood artistically in a corner somewhere, but if you ever talk to me again, I’ll be sure to ruin your life somehow.” He said bluntly at Harry before walking away, directly into a pack of jocks who were laughing loudly and pointing at Harry. Hopelessly, he leaned against the wall. Part of Harry had hoped that Niall would be different when he wasn’t around his friends, but no, he was the same jackass that had nailed all of Harry’s lawn furniture to his roof last summer and thrown frozen pee balloons at his car last winter break. Niall hadn’t changed, and for some reason, that really made Harry upset. He picked himself up from the wall, shifted the books in his bag so his back wouldn’t be sore for hours when he got home, and mindlessly began the walk to the cafeteria for the first time that school year.

Settling down at a table, Harry pulled out his phone to text his friends. He had barely finished typing the passcode in before Louis sat down next to him in a completely graceful fashion, plucking the iPhone from Harry’s hands and began scrolling through his texts. Sighing, Harry buried his face in his hands. Louis had been in Europe for the past two months, and of course the first time seeing his best friend all summer would involve him being an invasive prick.

“Really, Lou? There’s nothing in there that’s gonna interest you. Absolutely nothing, I promise.” Harry whined, trying to grab his phone back. Louis clicked his tongue at the other boy, scrolling through his texts until he suddenly stopped, gasping.

“You’re texting him again, Harry? What the actual fuck, I thought you deleted his number. I’ll do it for you, I suppose. Can’t have you getting your heart broken twice by the same twat, right?” Louis responded. Harry rolled his eyes, blushing for the second time that day. He was talking about Nick, obviously. Nick who broke Harry’s heart when he went away to college and came back for Thanksgiving break with a new boyfriend, Chad, who wore stupid ironic shirts and listened to shitty alternative music and read Lolita and thought he was the shit because of it. Harry hated Chad, but not as much as he hated Nick.

 

“He’s a good guy, Louis. We’re friends now, okay? That’s all.” Harry replied, finally managing to grab his phone away from Louis. A discontented sigh came from his friend’s mouth as Harry locked his phone and slid it into his pocket. Glancing around the cafeteria, he noticed that Niall and his friends were sitting just feet away at the end of the long table. Nervously, Harry stood up, placing his hands on Louis’ shoulders.

“Let’s get out of here. Text Zayn and tell him to meet us at that pizza place on Main, okay? Can’t deal with these assholes, it’s too early.” Harry suggested, earning a laugh from Louis as he wrapped his long arms around the boy’s neck.

“Anything for you, Harry. I’d do absolutely anything.” Louis said dryly as he shot a text to Zayn. Standing up, Louis glanced down the table, seeing Niall and his idiot friends glaring at the pair. Louis squinted at them, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

“You like that show, boys? A little too physical for you?” He asked, noticing their scowls. Harry smiled as Louis smacked his ass. “Completely platonic, right Harry? Not that it matters to them, half of these guys must be playing for the other team anyway.” Louis begins to walk away with Harry in tow, but he’s stopped by Niall’s hand gripping his shoulder. Turning around, Louis fakes an obviously gigantic smile.

“Did I touch a nerve there, then?”

“Don’t fucking say that shit ever again, Tomlinson. You’ll regret it.” Niall says, pushing Louis back. Harry runs over, pushing Louis back because knowing Lou, he’ll start a fight without a second thought.

“It’s not worth it, Lou. Just walk away.” Harry whispers, running his hand down the other boy’s back slowly. “He’s not worth shit and we both know it.” Harry raised his voice for that last comment, just loud enough for Niall to here. Louis nods slowly, motioning for Harry to follow him. The two exit the school and climb into Harry’s tiny car, throwing their backpacks in the trunk. Harry reaches to blast the radio as he puts the car into gear, but Louis’ hand stops him. He’s doing that best friend thing again where he looks into Harry’s eyes really deeply and asks him what’s going on and pretends to be a semi-decent human being for a moment. Harry sighs as he pulls out of the school parking lot and onto the road, managing to turn the radio on just a little bit to cut out the hanging air.

“Niall’s my lab partner in chem this year. I tried to talk to him after class about not being a huge dick and splitting the work so we both get a decent grade, but he told me off. Guess he’s still not over it, yeah?” Harry offers casually, hoping that Louis will be satisfied so they can talk about something else for the short car ride into town. Instead, Louis sighs, patting Harry on the back awkwardly.

“Niall Horan is a grade A shithead, Harry.” He says loudly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I know, Lou, but I’ve gotta be nice to him, though. Karma and everything.”

“No, you don’t have to be nice to him. You have to let him know that you’re not fucking around, Harry. Don’t let him be an ass to you all year…again.” Louis offers, kicking his feet up on the dashboard and earning a sigh from Harry. It’s not like it matters, though. They’re best friends, and best friends do stuff like that.

“No, Lou, I’m just gonna kill him with kindness. Maybe he’ll grow up this year.” Harry says, pulling into the parking lot of the pizza place. Spotting Zayn is easy: he’s sitting on the hood of his car with a cigarette placed between his lips and a sketchpad laid out against his thighs. He’s shed his uniform leather jacket and it’s laying across the passenger seat of his car, and flecks of ink peak out from his shirt. (Zayn was the first of their trio to get a tattoo, a delicate quote flowing against the rough edges of his collarbone. He had done it quietly and without telling anyone, convincing his older cousin to get a friend to ink him although he was years underage. Harry came next, marking himself with the empty star inside his arm after an incident at school that left him angry and upset. He never regretted his tattoo though, and still feels rather proud of it. Louis, although the oldest, received his one and only tattoo last. Two quotation marks sit on his wrist now, and Harry figures they mean something to Louis, but has never bothered to ask; tattoos are meaningful and personal he believes, and although they’re best friends, Harry doesn’t have to know everything about his friends.) Placing his stuff back into his backpack, Zayn hopped off the car, walking over to the boys and enveloping them both in a hug.

“Long time no see, right?” Zayn comments, smiling as they begin to walk across the parking lot. Harry nods and Louis makes a sarcastic comment, and it feels as if the balance of the universe is restored.

The boys catch up over lunch, rehashing the details of their summers and telling stories about all the trouble they got up to without the others. Louis tells tales of his stay in Europe, and how he spent every night in Barcelona out dancing and drinking and surrounding himself with beautiful people. Harry smiles as Louis talks about how he convinced one girl that he was a prince, and Zayn kicks his leg under the table as Louis goes off on a tangent on how he thought people should have to pass a basic art test in order to be admitted into the Louvre. Harry tells the two about how he spent his summer at the museum in the city, meeting interesting people and getting paid to talk about art. Zayn fills the boys in on his summer adventures in an art program in Chicago, telling them about all the beautiful girls he slept with and that one French boy who shotgunned him on the second night of the program. Harry teased, asking if it went any further. “That’s for me to know and for you to wonder, boys,” Zayn replies cheekily, dropping the subject as he notices the color draining from Louis’ cheeks.

Eventually they’re forced back to school, where Harry has just two classes left in the day and then he’s free. He drags himself to English and History, thanking god that he doesn’t have to sit next to any moronic jocks there. He takes his notes and fills out the worksheets his teachers give him, and even raises his hand a few times to add comments to the class discussion of Fahrenheit 451. When the final bell rings Harry races across the school to his locker, and begins to shove his books into his bag in record time. Within five minute, he’s pulling out of the parking lot for the second time that day, just as the lacrosse team jogs past him and up the road. Harry hits the brakes, careful not to hit any of the precious athletes as they saunter through the road. His breath hitches as Niall jogs past, watching as his back muscles flex through his thin white t-shirt. Niall whips his head around, glancing at the other boy for just a moment, and Harry swears, he really does- that Niall is staring at him, instead of running laps with his teammates. Harry looks away, busying himself with his radio and choosing a song to listen to. Pushing the thoughts of Niall away from his mind, he turns the volume up all the way as a Two Door Cinema Club song begins to play. He drives hope in almost-happiness, the sun shining through his sun roof and the cool air drifting through his windows. Harry pulls up to his house and walks through his front door, greeting his mother and running up to his room to begin his homework. Dumping his bag on his desk, a sheet of paper floats out from between his chemistry and algebra textbooks. The corner is bent and worn but the paper looks new. Harry squints, taking a closer look. He reads through what turns out to be his Chemistry syllabus, scanning through the course introduction and making his way down to the assignments. Suddenly, it feels like a weight has been sunk in Harry’s stomach. He rereads it once, twice, three times, and the letters on the paper stay the same each time. Fuck, he thinks, rubbing his forehead as he sits the paper down. Sighing, Harry falls backwards on his bed. The image of what he just read replays in his mind.

 

Start: September 1st, 2103  
Due: October 1st, 2013  
Project: Work with your lab partner on an in depth presentation about a recent chemistry discovery relating to current events. This project will be worth half of your first semester grade and will be worth two hundred points. This is a great opportunity to get to know your classmates!

 

A two hundred point project with Niall Horan, just what Harry had wanted. Shit.

 

 

~~~~~

 

When he was thirteen years old, Niall Horan’s mother had died. He doesn’t remember much, aside from his brother crying and his father hugging him for the first time in what felt like ages. He remembers having to wear a stiff black suit and a tight tie, wrapped around his neck like a noose. He recalls the doctor getting down on his knee and placing a cold hand on Niall’s shaking shoulder and saying, “She didn’t feel it, son. She’s okay now.” Niall can picture the moment when they lowered her casket into the ground perfectly: the sky was dim, plump raindrops falling from the sky and becoming one with the tears that fell from his eyes. Suddenly, he realized what was happening, and he felt his head spin. His mother was gone, and it finally hit him. Niall would never get another coral pink lipstick kiss before leaving for school and he would never smell her perfume again, the scent of morning dew and fresh sheets already fading from his muddled mind. He’d never cry into her shoulder again, because the thing is, Niall’s mom knew things about him that nobody else did. She died knowing his biggest secret, his biggest shame, and she died accepting and loving him more than anyone else ever could. When Niall Horan, at just thirteen years old, saw his mother’s body being sunken into the ground, he knew that his secret, the fact that at thirteen years old he knew in his gut that he liked boys and not girls, would die with his mother.

It’s not something he likes to talk about, obviously. Nobody wants to talk about their dead mother. Nobody wants to talk about their asshole father and their nearly absent older brother. People like talking about their family problems as much as they like hearing about them. What Niall has found over the past few years is that if you find something to distract yourself well enough, the problems almost completely disappear. There’s still a voice in the back of his head that tells him he’s lying to himself and disappointing his mother, but the absolute rush of adrenaline he gets form scoring the winning goal during a championship game always manages to overpower it. See, here’s the thing: because Niall can channel everything in his life that’s fucked up and messy into playing lacrosse, he’s become the most popular boy in the school. He hates it. He hates that because he can aim a ball into a little triangle goal, everyone expects his problems to just disappear.

Pretending to be a straight stud of a jock is a daunting task, Niall thinks. For starters, he’s expected to always have a girlfriend, which is fine, because the girls are always lovely. He likes talking to them and hanging out with them but when the time comes for his friends to shove a drink into his hands and pound him on the back as he leads the girl of the moment to the spare bedroom at some party, Niall starts to feel better. He hates leading her on and he hates faking it and he hates the smile he has to put on when he emerges from the bedroom, acting way drunker than he actually is. The worst is at practice, he thinks. Coach has always been a fan of shirts versus skins, strangely enough, which is torture for Niall. The curvature of a boy’s back is beautiful, he thinks; slicked with sweat and flecks of freshly cut grass speckled here and there. He loves the way muscles flex as the defensemen raises his lacrosse stick in the air to block a shot, the twists and turns of his biceps making his head spin. Sometimes Niall gets a little lost, catches himself staring too long to be normal. He wonders what it’d be like to stop pretending, but his mind flashes back to the locker room, where his teammates drop slurs like bombs. Easy enough, he shoves those thoughts out of his head and pushes himself harder at the next practice.

Everyone had always said that chemistry was the worst class you could possibly take in high school and ten minutes into Mrs. Whitman’s first real lesson, Niall had to agree. He wasn’t much of a science person to begin with, and when she started adding Greek letters to the equations, he decided it was time to space out. Leaning back in his chair, he spread his legs apart, sliding his right foot against the floor until it came to a hard stop. He had accidentally knocked against Harry’s foot, leaving a thin white scuff mark against the brown suede of his boot. Niall glared down, rolling his eyes. Back. Who the hell wore suede boots in August, anyway? Niall moved his foot back under his desk quickly, tapping his pen against the desk, distractedly. He hears Harry sigh, dropping his pencil on his desk as he curls his feet underneath his chair. Niall scoffs, leaning back further in his chair.

“D’you have to be a giant prick all the time?” Harry whispers. He’s following Louis’ advice, standing up to Niall and all, which doesn’t make any sense seeing that Harry mostly avoids conflict at all times. He turns to look at Niall as if to demand a response, to which the other boy makes a strange face.

“All part of my image, Styles. Just like yours involves you being a self-obsessed freak who wears women’s jeans and fucks anything that moves.” Niall retorts, busying himself with copying the notes from the board. Since his teacher had refused to change his seat, Niall figured that he’d make the best of a shitty situation and try to piss Harry off as much as possible, and it seemed to be working. Minutes pass without a response from Harry, so Niall looks back at the other boy, pretending to steal a glance at the periodic table hanging on the wall. His eyes were rimmed lightly in red, eyes glassy against his tan skin. Fuck, Niall thought, did he make Harry cry? It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does, seeing that Niall and Harry hate each other a lot, but for some reason, a pang of guilt rides through his body. When class ends and Harry practically sprints out of the classroom, it takes everything in Niall to not run after him and apologize.

“Party this weekend, are you in?” Liam slides onto the table, tipping Niall’s hat off with the tips of his fingers as he uses his other hand to steal a fistful of his friend’s fries. Niall groans, placing his cap back on and covering his lunch with one hand in a swift motion. He contemplates, then nods, glancing at his other friends.

“Will there be alcohol?” Niall asks, already knowing the answer. Of course there will be alcohol.

“That’s like asking if there are going to be girls.” Liam responds, earning a shrug from his friend. Lunch passes in a daze, but Niall finds himself looking over to Harry’s table constantly. He’s constantly flanked by Zayn and Louis, who he knows for sure would never let him talk to Harry. When he notices the two boys move, Niall gets up to throw his trash away, and walks over to his lab partner. Coughing, Harry looks up, sighing. Niall sits down across from Harry, the tension in the air thick.

“We should get started on our project,” Harry says softly, not looking up from the book he has laid out across the table. Niall nods, tapping out an awkward beat on the tabletop. “Meet me at the Starbucks on Main Street at seven thirty tonight. And by the way, don’t make any more comments about my sexual history.” Harry says coldly, flipping the page. Niall nods, opening his mouth to speak, before Harry finally looks up.

“I don’t know what made you hate me so much, but I’m starting to think that’s it’s not me and it’s you, Niall. Figure it out. Not everyone at this school worships the ground you walk on, you know.” Harry finishes bluntly, staring Niall dead in the eye. He snaps his book closed and stands up from the table, walking towards Zayn and Louis in the hallway. Before Niall can even react, Harry is gone. Groaning, he sets a reminder in his phone to meet Harry at Starbucks tonight.

Niall walks thoughtlessly back to his locker, retrieving his math books. He mindlessly walks down the hall, ignoring the people who call his name. There are a million conversations going on at once around him, but once catches his attention. Looking ahead, he sees Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson, two people Niall can honestly say he’s never spoken to in his life (regardless of the fact that they are currently heading to the same math class, where Niall sits one row behind the pair). He walks a little faster because hell, he’s not going to miss out on gossip, even if it involves the weird art kids.

“Something’s going on with him, Zayn, it’s really obvious. He’s lost that childish glimmer of hope that always shines in his giant fucking eyes.” Louis says quietly.

“Do you think he’s caught on?” Zayn asks quickly, turning to his friend. Louis shakes his head adamantly, shoving his hands into his back pockets. Niall is hopelessly lost at this point.

“Well whatever it is, we need to fix it. Not a great way to start the year, crying in the bathroom over some asshole calling him a slut.” Louis replies and Zayn nods, the two winding their way into the math classroom. Niall pauses in the middle of the hallway, not wanting for it to seem like he’d followed them, even though he did. Another beating wave of guilt hit him, knowing for sure that he’d been the reason for Harry’s unhappiness. Niall leaned against the fading lockers behind him, making a mental note to fix it…somehow.


	2. Part Two

Louis and Zayn have always been friends, if they can remember correctly. Their fathers had been golf pals and their mothers were in the same book club before they were born, so it was only expected that the two fall into the title of “best friends” from the moment they could talk.

For sixteen years, Zayn had been in love with Louis. Real love, even if he didn’t recognize it. Since he could remember it’s always been Louis, from that time in third grade when he was asked “what do you want to be when you grow up?” and Zayn had responded, saying that he wanted to be an artist in the big city, living with his best friend Louis and a bunch of babies and a pet rabbit. The teacher had laughed forcedly, patting him on the head. It’s been Louis since the homecoming dance in the ninth grade when Zayn didn’t have a date and neither did Louis and he had thought for a split second about asking him, about everything ending up perfect, before Zayn remembered Louis’ girlfriend, if you could even call her that (they’d gone on one date and according to Louis, she was a terrible kisser. Excellent, in Zayn’s opinion.) Zayn has loved Louis since he first knew what love was, even if he didn’t know it was Louis who he wanted.

For seventeen years, Louis had been absolutely enamored with Zayn. His best friend, he thought, with his charming smile and handsome looks, his talent for art and the deep things he said in English class, he’s absolutely perfect. All the girls love Zayn, probably because he’s edgy and mysterious and he was the first boy in the school to get a tattoo. Only a few people know the real Zayn though, Louis thinks. Him and Harry, maybe his sisters, not his parents. Nobody knows how much Zayn loves romantic comedies and corny nineties television shows aside from those who are closest to them. Nobody saw Zayn cry when his grandfather died, not even Harry. Just Louis, and he had never told anyone. Because they’re best friends.

Louis loves him, of course; they’re best friends.

Zayn knew something was up with Louis when he called him at three in the morning (Zayn’s time, obviously. Louis wasn’t that considerate) from Spain, his phone buzzing underneath his pillow. Thinking it was an emergency, Zayn practically jumped out of his skin as he slid his sleepy finger across the screen, ignoring the time, because it was Louis, his best friend. 

“Do you have any idea what time it is here?” Zayn had cried, trying to seem like he was angry, even though Louis knew he wasn’t.

“I’m never going to fall in love, Zayn. I’m sure of it.” he had slurred sadly, completely obvious that he was absolutely wasted. Zayn laughed, shuffling around his dark room.

“What makes you say that, Lou? Girls love you.” 

“Don’t want a girl, just want you. Always been you, Zayn. Since day one.” He said quietly, words suddenly clear as crystal.

Zayn froze. He felt an instant heat creep up on his cheeks as he fell backward on his bed. 

“You’re drunk,” He commented.

“Sober enough to know what I want, drunk enough to be so stupid to go after it.” Louis replied, his voice light.

The line stayed silent. Zayn’s head was pounding too hard for him to respond. 

“Wasn’t kidding, pretty boy. Too bad for me, though. All those gorgeous girls just love you, perfect rebellious you, Zayn.” He said quietly. 

“Go to bed, Louis.” Zayn pleaded. He couldn’t do this, not now, when Louis was in Spain and he was in Chicago.

“Sun’s up here, can’t do that right now.”

“Then I’m going to bed.” Zayn stated.

“If I get home and neither of us have gotten laid all summer to that day, will you kiss me, Zayn?” Louis asked. His voice was high again, obviously drunker than Zayn had thought.

“Of course, Lou. I’d do anything for you.” It wasn’t a lie. 

They said goodnight and hung up. Zayn made a mental note to stay away from that French exchange boy who had been eyeing Zayn up during art history. 

The next night, Louis gave the girl he had been dancing with in the club a fake number. 

When Zayn had landed back in New Jersey from his art camp, he was ready to dial for a cab to collect him and drop him off back at his house. Instead, he was greeted with Louis’ smiling face at the terminal. Zayn broke out into a grin as he walked over to his best friend, enveloping him in a hug for the first time in months.

“Haven’t gotten laid all summer, don’t go too crazy. You might excite me too much.” Louis whispered into his ear. 

Zayn kissed him. Louis kissed back. Sparks flew and everything was still and quiet and perfect.

(They’ve been dating ever since. Only a few weeks, but it feels like it’s been forever. It has been forever, in a way. Now it just has a label. And kissing. Lots of kissing.)

Harry still doesn’t know. 

 

Stifling hot water pounded against Niall’s face like bullets from a loaded gun, just the way he likes it. Today’s practice worked him hard, stretching his muscles and blurring his vision as he encroached in the six mile mark. He had joined the cross country team in an effort to stay in shape for lacrosse season when he was in the tenth grade, but ended up staying on for his junior year because he had grown to enjoy it. Running cleared his head: every day he would empty out all the thoughts that had built up in his mind during the day onto the pavement, the slap of his feet hitting the asphalt turning into a soothing melody. Every day Niall would go to practice, come home from practice, and take a scalding hot shower, which was enough routine for him. Aside from that, his life was a jumbled mess of anger, confusion, and unhappiness, all masked by a cheerful smile and a bubbly laugh. 

Knowing that he was going to be alone with Harry for the next few hours scared Niall. Harry, whom he had attempted to shove into a locker on more than one occasion, was now partially responsible for his Chemistry grade, which determined where he would go to college. Niall pulled a leg into a pair of dark jeans, his mind racing with thoughts of Harry. For the past few years he had acted with such disgust and animosity toward the other boy but in reality, Niall was scared and jealous of Harry. Powerful, he was, powerful and lucky: Harry had taken a terrible situation and used it to his advantage. Sure, the entire school had found out that he’d been hooking up with a senior throughout his freshman year, but now everyone knows his name, and his art. Harry became known but unpopular: he’s the kind of person who would smile at you in the hallway, but never be seen at a party. Harry was open and free, and Niall pretended he was. 

Pulling a thin green tank top over his head, Niall managed to shake his head out, discarding the remainder of his shower from his body. He slid into a pair of black Vans, grabbing his car keys with one hand as he slid his school bag onto his back again for the second time that day. Niall set off to the only Starbucks in town, cranking the radio in the car as he pulls out of the driveway. He winded through his neighborhood, mindlessly humming along to the changing songs on the pop station he has programmed as his default. As if on autopilot, Niall effortlessly drove through the town, pulling into the Starbucks parking lot with minutes to spare. The fluorescent dashboard clock read six forty five, and Harry had specifically said they would be meeting at seven. Niall groaned, realizing that he could’ve taken an extra fifteen minutes to do his hair, instead of running out the door after imitating a soaking wet dog. 

Without anything to do, Niall fished his phone out of his pocket and plugged it into the car stereo, cranking the volume up and putting down the sun roof. He scrolled through his library until he landed on a John Mayer album. Cranking the volume, he pulled his seat back, closing his eyes as he made a mental note of the time. With ten minutes to spare, Niall racked his brain with what he would say to Harry. It’s not like he could walk up to him and say, “Hey, I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick to you for the past few years, but you’ve basically done everything I can’t, are we cool now?” Zayn and Louis’ conversation had echoed in his head for the past few days, and the guilt Niall felt was consuming him. He knew what he had to do, but the thought of doing it made him sick to his stomach.

Niall pushed the thoughts out of his head, the bass of his stereo thumping through his car as the songs changed and changed, eventually flowing into one. He drifted back and forth between sleep and consciousness, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. Eventually he succumbed to a short nap, only to be awoken by the careful tapping knock of someone at the hood of his car. 

Opening his eyes slowly, Niall immediately saw the silhouette of Harry’s lengthy body, stark against the pink and gold setting sun. He walked over slowly as Niall shut off his car, pulling his phone from the stereo plug. Unlocking the door, Harry awkwardly shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans as Niall climbed out of his car, sluggish with sleep. 

“How long was I out?” Niall asked quickly, his voice unusually quiet. Normally he spoke in loud tones, his bright laughter constantly booming in conversation, but Harry made him feel silent. In school he could go along with his friends, joking about Harry. Alone, it was pointless. Why try to impress someone who wouldn’t care? As far as Niall was concerned, he had fucked up beyond repair with Harry.

“I just pulled up a few minutes ago. Didn’t expect you to have good taste in music, to be honest. Heard it from halfway down the road.” Harry said quietly, his sentences short and distinctively passive. The taller boy shrugged, as Niall watched the pools of his clavicle expanding as he breathed in and out. Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, rocking back on his heels. Niall could have laughed at Harry’s response, nodding as the two boys walked towards the coffee shop together. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He said softly, running his fingers against the brim of his snapback. Harry snorted, opening the thick glass door.

“I don’t care about you.” Harry replied coldly. His manner didn’t math his tone, however. Holding the door open for Niall, Harry held his breath as the other boy walked past. Niall sighed, pushing his sunglasses up the roof of his nose and across the brim of his hat, falling down into one of the heavy leather chairs. He pulled his laptop from his school bag as Harry did the same. 

“Have you thought about what we might want to do this on?” Niall asked, trying to make conversation with his partner. Harry shook his head.

“I don’t know much about chemistry, ‘m more of an arts person. Whatever you want to do is fine with me.” He offered quietly, typing away on his computer. Niall studied the array of stickers that decorated the stark white top of Harry’s laptop. It was littered with stickers from museums, cities, bars, and everything in between, which amused the other boy. A smile hidden against his lips, Niall began to boot up his on laptop. 

“Not sure, we could do something about biochemistry?” Niall started, looking up to Harry, who nodded quickly in agreement. Continuing, Niall sunk into the chair.

“I read this article about how scientists can control genes with chemistry now, we could do that,” He offered.

“Don’t care what we do. I just want to pass.” Harry replied bluntly, typing something on his phone. Niall nodded slowly, pulling up the article on his screen and sending it to Harry in an email. 

“Is your email address still the same? From befo—“

“Before you stopped talking to me, or before you started torturing me?” Harry shot back, his voice refusing to waver.

Niall swallowed. “I was gonna say from before we started high school, Harry.” 

The other boy nodded, licking his lips. “It’s the same.” He replied quietly, standing up and walking over to the cash register. Moments later Harry returned with a gigantic drink, steam billowing from underneath the lid. He settled back into the chair opposite Niall and opened his laptop back up, fingers darting across the keyboard quickly. 

Niall figures that Harry won’t notice him walk away, so he makes a point to order something that will keep him awake—quickly. He asks for a venti Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappucino, because fuck it, he ran today. Walking back over to their claimed area, Niall heard Harry laugh. Quirking an eyebrow, Niall took a long sip from his drink.

“What?” He asked, licking the whipped cream from his lips.

“I’ve never met a straight boy who willingly orders a Frappucino, is all.” Harry said quietly, smiling. Niall’s breathing stops, as he stands frozen in place. Once he sees Harry’s smile and hears his delicate laugh, he exhales. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Harry.” He repeats, this time loud enough to be heard. 

 

Harry prides himself on three things: his extensive knowledge of Impressionist art, the way he can make his hair basically defy gravity, and his ability to accurately judge people on just about everything. Everyone judges, he thinks, but it’s whether or not you’ve got a bias is what really matters. Every time he sees a person, Harry judges them, and more than not, he’s finds that his first thoughts are correct. Even after just a minute, he can know if they’re Good or Bad, Real or Fake, Worth It or Not. 

When Harry first met Niall he loved him, but in that “we’re-seven-years-old-and-I-want-to-be-your-best-friend-forever” kind of way. He remembers sitting next to Niall on the carpet in English class, laughing at his silly jokes and being shushed by their teacher. He remembers playing on the playground with Niall, and taking care of the class pet with him over spring break (it was a golden hamster named Arthur. Niall accidentally set it lose in Harry’s living room and they chased the little bastard around for hours, before finding him perched atop the bread basket in the kitchen.)

Harry remembers when Niall’s mother died and his best friend started inching away from him. He remembers when Niall stopped talking to him in school and when he spit on him on the bus and called him a fag behind his teeth, but what he remembers the most is being the only person Niall wanted at the funeral. He remembers his best friend crying into his shoulder, Harry himself trying to suppress tears because one of them had to be strong. Niall had a death grip on Harry’s hand because there was nobody there to see. They’d been growing apart for months but when Harry showed up at the viewing in a tight black suit with his hair combed for once, everything fell back into place. 

“Don’t tell anyone you came,” Niall had said quietly, his hands shaking against his friend’s back. Harry shook his head in agreement. He didn’t understand what was happening and neither did Niall. Being thirteen, as stupid as it sounds, is hard enough, but with your mom dying? Harry didn’t even want to think about that. He loved his mom more than anything, more than all the grains of sand on the deep ocean floor, more than all the stars in the dark blue sky. He knew that Niall and his mother had a special relationship, one different than that of the one he shared with his father (who admittedly was a bit rough around the edges, Harry had always thought). 

“Don’t worry.” Harry had replied shortly. Neither boy realized that this would be the last time they interacted on friendly terms for the next three years. 

It’s hard for Harry to think of Niall as anything but the asshole who has egged his house every year since the ninth grade but in the fleeting moment when he manages to look past his obvious immaturity, Harry remembers how nice Niall used to be. They were each other’s first best friend, first sleepover, first everything. The first time Niall got drunk, he was sitting on the old recliner in Harry’s basement sipping at a Corona he had nicked from the cooler in his neighbor’s yard from Labor Day, with a disgusted, sour look on his face. 

Whatever happened between them, Harry isn’t sure. All he knows that losing your best friend is the worst. 

Niall walked back over to the table with a gigantic Frappucino and when Harry sees, he almost chokes on his chai. He makes a snarky comment and doesn’t miss what Niall says in return—“there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” The second time he’s said the same thing, Harry recalls. If it wasn’t important, he wouldn’t repeat it. Harry wonders what Niall could be hinting at, with the serious tone and a flat voice. Suddenly Harry remembers that he’s mad at Niall for a plethora of important reasons, so he redirects his attention to his computer and begins to research the article Niall has sent him. 

Moments pass in silence, tapping fingers and the distant sound of a coffee grinder filling an empty void of silence in the coffee shop. Every once in a while Harry would laugh quietly, responding to a funny text from Zayn or Louis. Niall’s phone rings with a call from Liam but he sends it to voicemail after receiving a death glare from Harry, for no apparent reason. The two boys work on their project, avoiding conversation whenever possible. Because ex friends don’t’ talk. They just hate each other. 

“Shit,” Harry muttered, slamming his laptop shut in frustration. 

“What is it?” Niall asked, looking up from his screen. 

“Laptop’s out of battery. I need to go back home and get my charger, if that’s okay.” He replied, packing all his things into his backpack and standing up. Niall followed after, jamming his laptop into his beaten up bag. 

“I’ll come with you,” He offered. Harry stares at him, because really?

“You can’t leave me here. I’ll get kidnapped.” Harry rolled his eyes, and flicks his head to motion for Niall to follow him out the door. They walked in silence to Harry’s car, backpacks bouncing on their shoulders. Harry hit the button and his little Volvo beeps as he climbed into the front seat, starting the car as Niall slid into the passenger spot effortlessly. Fiddling with the radio dial, Harry gives up and plugs his phone in, tapping shuffle as he pulls out of the parking lot. 

The pair drove in silence down the long road, Harry tapping the beat to the Arctic Monkeys song that’s humming out of the radio on his knee. Niall alternates between staring at his phone and staring out the window, aware of how completely awkward the current situation is. Harry slows the car down, pulling into a long driveway flanked by two sides of obviously artificially green grass. He pulls into the garage, rolling up the windows and unlocking the doors.

“My sister may be home,” Harry warned quietly, glancing over to Niall. The other boy shrugged. 

“I know your sister, dude. It’s fine.” He replied, oblivious.

“You know my sister, and she knows that you called me a slut to my face the other day.” Harry flatly retorted. Niall sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“She also knows that you got the lacrosse team to egg my house on Halloween,” He added. 

“In my defense, that wasn’t completely my fau—“

“Shut up, Niall. We’re making this quick. The less time I have to spend with you, the more time I have to, quote, wear women’s jeans and fuck anything that moves.” He said coldly, climbing out of the car and walking into his house. Niall groaned, wanting to call out for Harry. Instead, he follows the other boy. Harry walked straight up the stairs and to his room, pulling the door open to reveal what Niall had expected. 

Harry’s room looked exactly the same as it did three years ago. His black bed is as messy as it was when he was thirteen, a white comforter strewn across the top, covered in clothes and shoes and everything else. Posters of bands and artists and places cover every inch of the walls, hints of dark red paint peeking out. Niall remembers when the only posters Harry had were of football players and supermodels, he remembers laughing when Harry had proudly taped up a nearly naked poster of Danica Patrick on his wall. 

“She’s hot,” Niall had commented. Harry nodded.

“Definitely. I’d kiss her, probably.” The other boy returned, straightening the edges out.

“Me too.” Niall responded gawkily. He thought he was sly, covering up how he didn’t like girls by saying how he thought one was hot, but looking back on it, he realizes he just looked like an ass. 

“What happened to all the half-naked chicks?” Niall asked jokingly, turning around to take everything in. A desk in the corner is covered with album covers and jars of paint, the easel to the left of it houses a canvas with a rough sketch. 

“Dunno, guess I took them down when I realized I was a big gay slut, as you’d say.” He said dryly, sitting down on his bed. 

“You can have them if you want, for your wank bank. I still have ‘em, somewhere in my closet. Ironically.” He added, laughing at the joke. Niall shook his head as Harry scrutinized his response. 

“Don’t want that.”

“You don’t want to get off to some hot pictures of Danica Patrick and Kate Upton circa 2009?” Asked Harry, quirking an eyebrow.

“What makes you think I masturbate to pictures of half-naked girls?” Niall reacted, a hint of anger apparent in his voice. Harry shrugged, raising his hands above his head because shit, what did he just say? Harry pushed that thought out of his head, that completely incredible thought, because it’s just impossible. Harry laughed, grabbing his laptop charger from beneath his bed. 

“Have something you want to say?” He asked sarcastically, pointing his finger at Niall, who shrugged in response. Harry jams his charger into the pocket on his backpack, heading towards the door. He fished his car keys out of his pocket. Harry had been reaching for the door just as Niall spoke up.

“Yeah, actually. I’m gay. Surprise.” He said, voice barely wavering (Thank god, Niall thinks. If this is how he has to make it up to Harry, he can’t seem like a total pansy and lose every bit of his man card). 

Harry’s eyes went wide, the sound of his keys crashing against the floor echoing around the silent room. 

“Shit,” He said, because nothing else comes to mind. Niall nodded, of course he fucking nods. Harry walked back into his room and sinks into the futon that sits parallel to his desk. Harry repeated himself because really, shit. He didn’t see it coming, even in the little corner of his mind that had been saying “pay attention to me, he’s been dropping hints all over the place!” Niall nodded again, leaning back against Harry’s decoupaged wall. 

“I know it doesn’t make any of the bullshit I put you through, but I just, I’m sor—“

“You threw pee balloons at me. You shoved me into a locker. You tried to light my hair on fire at a soccer game, fucking hell Niall, what the fuck kind of sick joke are you pulling on me now?” Harry shouted shortly, his bag and keys discarded in a pile on the floor of his room. Niall sighed again, that’s all he seems to do anymore. 

“Why would I joke about this?” He said softly.

“Because you’re fucked up, Niall, you’re an asshole. You’re the biggest asshole in the school, and you think it’s funny to do this to me, but it’s not.” Harry’s face burned bright red with anger and Niall’s hands shook. The music coming from the room next door had been turned down, but Harry doesn’t care. 

“Leave, Niall. Just get out. I’ll do the whole damn project by myself, just leave my friends and I alone.” He commanded, throwing open his bedroom door and kicking his bag out of the way. 

Shaking his head, Niall moved closer to Harry. 

“I’m not joking. I’m not fucking with you. I’m not lying, I’m not pulling a prank on you. I promise.” He looked right into Harry’s deep green eyes, nearly losing himself. Harry laughed again, this time darker. He shook his head, curly hair flying everywhere. 

“Shut up and get out of my house or, or I’ll—“ He roared, but before he can finish his thought, Niall’s lips are crashing against his like thunder in the sky, and Harry is pushed against his door. Harry’s hands are pressing against the door and as he leans further and further into the kiss he can feel Niall’s hands shaking as he runs them through the taller boy’s hair. For what feels like eternity, they’re together for the first time in years. No roughness, no shoving, no name-calling or pointing in the hallway. Just them, Niall and Harry, like it’s supposed to be. Their lips break apart for a short second, before Harry leans back in. Carefully, he gnaws against Niall’s bottom lip, their tongues crashing as a quiet moan escapes from Harry’s mouth. 

Niall pulled away seconds later, breath ragged. Harry’s eyes were wide again as he leaned back on the wall, recounting what just happened. 

“Niall,” Harry started, playing with the hem of his shirt. The other boy looked into Harry’s eyes for the second time that day, and Harry could just hear the thoughts running through his head. Don’t tell anyone. I told you. I’m sorry.

“Yeah?” He replied, trying to keep himself composed. Harry laughed a little, because this whole thing is just ridiculous.

Niall grinned, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he walked over to Harry. 

It’s wrong, Harry thinks, Harry knows that it’s wrong. But for some reason, they seem to fit together, even after three years.

Harry ran one of his long fingers over the tip of Niall’s snapback as he licks his own top lip gently.

“Do that again.” 

Their project goes unfinished that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I'm sorry this took so long, but school started last week and I've been absolutely slammed with work. I'm hoping that it's under control now, so I'll be updating more regularly. Also, I apologize for my inability to write anything even remotely sexy. If you wanna talk to me or if you're wondering about when I'll be updating next, you can find me on tumblr at twinkharry! Thank you all soooo much!

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiii, everyone. Thank you for reading! This is the first thing I've written in almost three years (sigh where did the time go) so please please please leave me comments about what I can do better and definitely about what you think of the fic! Part two will be up soon. You can follow me on tumblr at twinkharry for more information, if you'd like. Thanks!


End file.
